


Spot Me, Spot You

by LadyKnightOfHollyrose



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Single Parents, Teachers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKnightOfHollyrose/pseuds/LadyKnightOfHollyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It occurs to Arthur that he should maybe let go and stop staring since his sons will still need to deal with Weillschmidt for the rest of this year and don’t need their teacher to think that their dad is a complete dingbat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spot Me, Spot You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smuttyandabsurd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: Teacher/single parent AU

Arthur glances down at his watch.

He groans, barely containing the string of curses that flit through his mind and runs a hand through his hair.

(When he realises the disarray _that_ causes, he slips and swears under his breath. He thinks he hears a faint giggle through the door but is too preoccupied with rectifying the damage by that time to do anything about it.)

Not enough time to change; still, he shrugs off his suit jacket and slides off the tie he’d worn to work. A once over in the mirror is enough to convince him he looks presentable and then he’s striding out of his room.

Mercifully Matthew is already in the lounge, ready to leave. Alfred, however…

“Alfred, we need to be in your first teacher’s classroom in _ten minutes_ ,” he calls up the stairs.

Something crashes upstairs, and Arthur _really_ hopes his hapless son hasn’t managed to break anything (himself included) in his rush to shout, “gimmie like two seconds!”

After a few more minutes of exasperated eye rolls and impatient huffing, Arthur is finally able to lock the door behind them to make a somewhat mad scramble to the first appointment of parent's evening.

Honestly, if Arthur's complete dick of a boss hadn't held him up for fifteen minutes at the end of his shift they'd have been smooth sailing.

Arthur sends Alfred ahead to the classroom as he parks up, and with Matthew as a guide through some of the quieter corridors he makes it with a few moments to spare to catch his breath.

The boys have thankfully managed to coordinate their appointments with enough time to tramp across campus to each of their respective teachers' classrooms; neither of them have accidentally-on-purpose forgotten to book meetings with lesser liked teachers, and that there's the true marker of how much they've grown.

It boils down to a few hours of hearing the same kind of comments he’s become accustomed to; both boys work hard when they put their minds to it though Alfred could stand to talk to his friends a little less and Matthew needs to reign in his daydreaming. That Alfred’s class participation is as stellar as ever and Matthew is an asset to any group project that he takes part in. That their grades are satisfactory though Alfred sometimes forgets to bring his homework in; Arthur’s assured that it’s always brought in on the next day at the latest though.

He’s proud of his boys.

Finally ( _finally)_ they’re down to their last appointment. Arthur’s feeling a little worse for wear by this point – it’s been a _long_ day – but Alfred’s the most enthusiastic that he’s been all evening as he flits down a corridor and around a corner without waiting for Arthur or Matthew to catch up. Even Matthew, who has spent most of the evening attempting to become invisible as his teachers pick apart his grades and academic progress so far seems lighter, hands comfortably nestled into the pockets of his jeans instead of plucking at the sleeves of his oversized hoodie.

It _could_ be down to anticipation of finally being free of college for the night, but as Arthur glances down at the sheet in his hands he realises that he does actually recognise the name scheduled to speak about both of his sons.

Gilbert Weillschmidt, if he remembers rightly, is one of the few teachers who dispense with titles and allow students to call him by name. In fact, Arthur’s pretty sure he can recall a particularly spirited dinner where Alfred had extolled the teacher’s virtues.

Arthur and Matthew trail in Alfred’s wake, and Arthur can’t help but wonder at this teacher who has managed to coax such enthusiasm for history in his boys; Alfred has actually admitted to thinking his assignments from the class have been fun _and_ interesting, after all. And Matthew’s tangent a few weeks later on the credibility of what was in history books and the influence of history’s ‘winners’ had obviously been inspired by a certain someone who had discussed the idea at length in class.

The way that both boys have been so vocal about their grades in history hasn’t left much doubt in Arthur’s mind about what he’ll be hearing from their teacher by this point, but for the first time this evening he can’t help the genuine feeling of curiosity at what he’s going to find in one of these appointments.

Alfred’s waiting for them at the door to a classroom that looks much the same as the rest from the outside. Inside the room is another matter entirely.

The walls are covered in what seems to be a timeline, posters made by students filling in each part (and Arthur can see that the ‘no bulleted lists’ rule that Matthew has mentioned is certainly in full force).

It seems that they’ve made it there just as Weillschmidt’s last appointment are finishing up as they’re standing up and obstructing Arthur’s view of the teacher. Still, he doesn’t have to wait long before Alfred’s springing from the plastic chair he’d settled into to claim a seat at his teacher’s table.

Arthur shakes his head and follows, sinking into the middle seat with Matthew taking the seat on his other side.

Weillschmidt’s head is ducked as he jots something down; he does glance up for long enough to give Arthur a brief grin as Arthur’s sitting down, however, with a brief “I’ll be with you in just a second Mr Kirkland.

Arthur’s brow furrows. Because there is something awfully familiar about the man sitting in front of him, but with his view restricted by the sheet of paper that Alfred’s passing across to his teacher Arthur can’t be sure what it is about the man that’s making him furrow his thick brows or bite at his lower lip in distraction.

The sheet is lowered and placed on the table, a hand reaching out across the table and into Arthur’s vision to be shaken and bringing Arthur out of his contemplation. He takes the hand and looks up into gleaming eyes, the same rich colour of a full bodied Shiraz.

It’s not a colour you’d forget in a hurry.

It occurs to Arthur that he should maybe let go and stop staring since his sons will still need to deal with Weillschmidt for the rest of this year and don’t need their teacher to think that their dad is a complete dingbat (and perhaps Arthur should actually pay attention to what he’s being told since the way Weillschmidt’s brows are rising seems significant-)

Arthur’s lips part slightly as it finally hits him.

Oh _god_.

It’s Hot Gym Guy.

Hot Gym Guy who works out at the same time as Arthur, first thing in the morning, and is definitely where Arthur’s attention tends to stray when the breakfast news starts to repeat itself on screen and his playlist lulls. Hot Gym Guy who isn’t just obsessed with the weight room (but has shoulders and arms that have Arthur sighing) and grins impishly whenever he catches Arthur’s eye, who totes a plastic sports bottle covered in stickers of cartoony Easter chicks.

Hot Gym Guy who Arthur has been low-key flirting with (without words); Hot Gym Guy who is apparently the exalted history teacher his sons have been raving about all term.

(Arthur can’t help but note in a remote part of his mind that the forearms that peek out from rolled shirtsleeves definitely do not disappoint.)

Weillschmidt looks at him a little strangely as he lets Arthur’s hand go; Arthur attempts to force the slight heat he can feel start to crawl up his neck away through sheer force of will so that he can concentrate on what his sons’ history teacher has to say.

He sees the exact moment that it all clicks into place for Weillschmidt too, after a compliment paid to Matthew’s thorough coursework that has Arthur turning to beam at his son with pride (as Matthew looks embarrassed and pleased all at once).

Then Alfred’s asking if everything’s all right, and Arthur turns his head back to see that he’s addressing Weillschmidt; presumably because of the way his dusty brows have risen to disappear behind his fringe, eyes wide as they fix on Arthur’s face again.

They somehow make it through the rest of the appointment without getting too distracted, and while neither of them acknowledges their recognition out loud Arthur can tell that something’s changed. He’s a little disappointed that he hasn’t been slipped a piece of paper with Weillschmidt’s number when they shake hands before they part ways; then he kicks himself, because honestly when would Weillschmidt even have had the opportunity to write that down somewhere to fold up and give to him while being discreet anyway?

Arthur shakes his head for the stupid thought as he drives home, because he’s being completely ridiculous.

(Two days later he’s even more disappointed when he sees no sign of Gilbert in the weights room as he walks through to get to the treadmills.

That is, until he spots a familiar decorated bottle sitting innocently in the treadmill next to the one he claims for himself every time he’s at the gym.)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the awful pick up line 'Hey there! It’s your turn to spot me because I spotted you from across the room when you walked in.'


End file.
